


John Locked

by Tindomerelhloni



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Cock Cage, Consensual bondage, Established Relationship, Humiliation, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Public Bondage, Sub John, Top Sherlock, at no point is John forced into anything he doesn’t want to do, male chastity, minor case mentioned in passing, the boys switch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 09:30:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13808397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tindomerelhloni/pseuds/Tindomerelhloni
Summary: I wrote this mainly to get back into writing. I’ve been suffering from a severe case of depression and even more severe case of “series of unfortunate events.”In short, my anxiety and depression cost me my relationship. My boyfriend left me. Blamed everything on me. Left me broken and just... lost. I was in the motions of helping myself, was seeing a therapist (still am) and had a appointment for a psychiatrist to see about medication. But none of that matter. He didn’t care. He had issues too, but chose to use my faults as a way out.I’m okay now, but it it took months. I’m stronger for it.Then family issues... older sister (adult) with addiction problems.Then my computer broke. I fixed it with a $300 part. It worked fine for a few weeks. Now it’s dead for good.Oh, Also. Have I mentioned that I hate my job?So I wrote this to spite my string of bad luck, on my 4 year old laggy as fuck iPad. I’m not 100% happy with this, I feel like I didn’t quite get John right in the end. But I was growing so frustrated with my iPad that i just  had to end it.I bought myself a cheap as fuck laptop, that should be arriving in a day or so. I have a surgery planned in 2 days, so maybe once I’ve recovered I can get back into writing again...But at this point, I’m just waiting for that black cat to cross my path while breaking mirrors all around me. I feel defeated.Also, I’ve wanted to write about male chastity since joining the fandom, but was afraid of how it would be received. So I figured now, while my luck is down, I might as well just go for it.





	John Locked

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this mainly to get back into writing. I’ve been suffering from a severe case of depression and even more severe case of “series of unfortunate events.”
> 
> In short, my anxiety and depression cost me my relationship. My boyfriend left me. Blamed everything on me. Left me broken and just... lost. I was in the motions of helping myself, was seeing a therapist (still am) and had a appointment for a psychiatrist to see about medication. But none of that matter. He didn’t care. He had issues too, but chose to use my faults as a way out. 
> 
> I’m okay now, but it it took months. I’m stronger for it.
> 
> Then family issues... older sister (adult) with addiction problems. 
> 
> Then my computer broke. I fixed it with a $300 part. It worked fine for a few weeks. Now it’s dead for good. 
> 
> Oh, Also. Have I mentioned that I hate my job?
> 
> So I wrote this to spite my string of bad luck, on my 4 year old laggy as fuck iPad. I’m not 100% happy with this, I feel like I didn’t quite get John right in the end. But I was growing so frustrated with my iPad that i just had to end it. 
> 
> I bought myself a cheap as fuck laptop, that should be arriving in a day or so. I have a surgery planned in 2 days, so maybe once I’ve recovered I can get back into writing again... 
> 
> But at this point, I’m just waiting for that black cat to cross my path while breaking mirrors all around me. I feel defeated.
> 
> Also, I’ve wanted to write about male chastity since joining the fandom, but was afraid of how it would be received. So I figured now, while my luck is down, I might as well just go for it.

The chain around his neck was cold. He knew it would warm up with time, but that did nothing to stop the shiver from running down his spine. He tried to hide it but Sherlock’s dark chuckled told he he had been unsuccessful. 

"What's the matter, Watson,” Sherlock’s voice, rumbling deep like thunder, teased as one long finger trailed from the chain around his neck down his spine, “can’t handle your punishment? Already?”

“I can, Sir,” John gasped out as the soft trail of finger turned into fingernails grabbing at the soft flesh at his side. He’d let himself go, if only a little, since his army days, and Sherlock loved to exploit this small iota of fat just above his hips. 

“You’d better.” Sherlock’s voice, now liquid fire hissed into his ear as the fingernails bit into soft flesh. “You nearly got yourself killed, because you thought it better not to stay put, like I asked. Answer me this, Watson... Did I ask you to go in ‘guns blazing’, or did I ask you to stay put, and wait for them to come to us?” Sherlock’s teeth were now scraping over John’s ear and at any other time that would have been erotic, would have gotten them both off in a heartbeat. But this was different. This was Sherlock claiming him, a way for both of them to re-ground themselves in the wake of what could have been a disaster. 

 

...

Not three hours earlier, they’d been in a damp ally at the edge of the Thames, staring at a long deserted warehouse. Currently, it was housing a gang of kidnappers. A small child had been stolen out of his bed after his father, a businessman dealing with stocks, had sold his shares moments before the market crashed, leaving some of his business partners angry at their own misfortune, and jealous of his fortune. 

John and Sherlock had been tasked, after Scotland Yard failed, to recover the child, and apprehend the hired thugs. And to find which co-worker was to blame, however that had been easy for Sherlock. “It’s him”, he’d said pointing to a balding middle age man. When asked why Sherlock had shrugged and said, “his shoes, they’re muddy. Why would a businessman have mud on his shoes.”

The man had proven himself to be tight lipped, so after analyzing some of the mud, Sherlock had been able to pinpoint nearly exactly in London the man had acquired the mud. Which, is how they’d ended up in the ally, crouching below a window that looked directly into a large room, lit by oil lanterns and powerful electric torches. Four men sat on wooden crates, one paced, and a child of no more than five sat shivering with fear on the floor in the middle of everyone. 

All men were armed, the man pacing with a gun, the rest carried pipes or security batons. Sherlock had hissed that they should wait, wait for someone to come out and quietly dispatch of him, then sneak in when the odds were more in their favor. Initially John had agreed. He wasn’t very keen on jumping in, two against five, and just hoping it all worked out in the end. 

However, when the man pacing began checking his phone, then watch, then phone, then child, continuously... John began to get nervous. He knew what that meant. The captor was getting impatient. His terms were not being met. His brain jumped back to a rescue mission back in Afghanistan, and he snapped into action. 

He judo rolled under the window, came up in a low crouch, then crept along the wall to the door not 200 feet away from where he and Sherlock had been positioned. Standing, he kicked in the door, gun already raised. He had everyone’s position memorized. 

Five shots later, five men fell to the ground, all of them clutching their right shoulders. Definitely not enough to kill, but also definitely enough to ensure they weren’t moving any time soon. With three bullets left, he walked to the leader, the man who’d been pacing, and clicked his tongue disapprovingly as he raised his gun to point it at John’s face. The man squeezed the trigger, but in a burst of luck gun jammed and John played off his relief by bending down, and twisting the man’s wrist. 

“A kidnapping charge is bad enough, but murder?” John shook his head, “I think not.” The gun was dropped and John kicked it as far across the room as he could. 

Sherlock came in scowling, phone pressed to his ear, clearly telling Lestrade of the “good news”. Hitting “end” on his phone he stalked over to John, grabbed the gun out of his hand and swiftly knocked out the ringleader with the butt of John’s pistol. Ignoring the child whimpering on the ground he rounded on John. 

“I said WAIT. How the hell are we going to explain THIS,” he motioned to their surroundings, bellowing the words at John, “to Lestrade?”

“As necessary.” John shrugged, taking his gun back and flicking on the safety before Sherlock did something stupid. 

“Get the kid,” Sherlock then growled as he began to search for something suitable to use to tie up the men. 

 

...

 

“You said,” John began, keeping his eyes averted and his voice low, “to wait.”

“Oh, so your brain does still work....” Sherlock hissed, then bit roughly on John’s ear. 

John would be lying if he said that he hated when Sherlock got like this. Sherlock was always possessive after a display of Captain John Watson. And more so if danger had been involved. He loved seeing the raw emotion take over Sherlock. And he loved submitting to Sherlock. He did so knowing that at no point would Sherlock push him past his limits, knowing that despite whatever words Sherlock might use, he’d always be taken care of in the end. Never was he left wanting... for long." 

Which is why now, he was on his knees, naked as the day he was born in their lounge, with a thick chain locked like a collar and leash locked around his neck. 

John knew better than to answer. He remained as still as possible, knelt with his feet beneath his rump, and hands palm up on his thighs. 

“While the outcome of your little escape was... positive, my plan would have worked. The boy was in no danger."

Sherlock stood and took two paces back so he was between John and the door. “Hands and knees, then present, Watson,” he commanded as he took his suit jacket off and crossed his arms over his chest. 

John immediately went to his hands and knees, shuffling so his head was facing the windows, he immediately lowered his chest and head, letting both touch the carpet, leaving his arse up in the air. Spreading his legs as far apart as he could, he felt utterly exposed. Which, in fact, he was. His balls and half interested cock hung between his splayed legs, and all it would take would be for Sherlock to grab one ass cheek to reveal his anus. 

“Getting excited already?” Sherlock took a step closer and let his shoe clad toes touch the tip of John’s cock. “Well, don’t bother, I have a few tasks in store for you before you’ll be allowed to get off, if you’re allowed. A little bit of a show, to prove you can listen, if you will.”

John couldn’t see Sherlock’s face, but he knew that voice. It was the voice he gave boring clients, the voice that said, you’re not worth my time so either become interesting, or leave. 

John knew he was about to get very interesting. 

“Stand.” The simple command had John on his feet in a flash, not having been told which way to stand, he remained facing the window. His cock gave another interested twitch, knowing that anyone looking at them from the building across the street would be able to see him. 

Sherlock hummed in approval as he stepped closer, arranging the chain so the tail of it fell against John’s back. 

“I’ve purchased you something, ages ago actually, but now seems the appropriate time to give them to you. Under my bed, “Sherlock purposely put the inflection on the word ’my’, letting John know that they were currently not equals, “bring me the red box. Do not open it.”

Turning about face John walked calmly into the bedroom, kneeling in the same fashion as before pausing to show Sherlock he was taking the appropriate steps, then shifted to hands and knees, chest and head touching the floor again, then retrieved the red box. It was roughly the size of a laptop, a few inches thick and heavier than it looked. Getting to his feet, pausing again at the default submissive state of kneeling, he walked to Sherlock. Keeping roughly a pace away from the man who was currently his master, he knelt, shuffled the box so it rested on his upward facing palms, then held it high, roughly face height, for Sherlock. 

Sherlock let him stay like that for a full minute, letting John’s arms grow tired from holding the weight of the box. Then, finally, he reached out and took the top off. Tossing the cover aside he spoke. 

“Look inside, and tell me if they are to your liking. Be honest, because if they are...” Sherlock’s voice fell silent and out of the corner of his eyes he could see Sherlock’s smirk, “they’ll be the entirety of your outfit when we are home.”

John lifted his eyes and looked into the box, he felt a lump from in his throat and he risked a look at Sherlock, “All the time, Sir?”

Understanding flickered in Sherlock’s eyes and he shook his head. “No, John,” his voice became soft and a genuine smile filled his face, “only when we are like this. Only when you are willing."

John smiled, nodded, and looked back into the box. Orgasm denial had always been a hot spot for him. He loved it when Sherlock would tease him, and tease him, and not allow him release. One night after a rather satisfying round of ‘normal’ sex, their pillow talk had turned into fantasies. And John had mentioned his curiosity about a particular instrument called a cock cage. 

It was a small device, made out of metal or plastic, that consisted of a ring that  
went around a man’s testicles, and locked into eventually a hollow penis. One could then put a small padlock through a little hole, essentially preventing the wear from taking it off. Some had holes or slits for urine to trickle out, causing added humiliating by forcing the man to sit while he urinated. Others had catheters that locked in place and couldn’t be removed until the cage was take off. 

The one in the box was a shining silver metal, the long tube of the catheter lay beside it, the cock ring and lock just to the other side of the cage. Also in the box was a sleek black collar and matching wrist cuffs. All locked shut with a small padlock. 

John’s cock grew to full length and he felt woozy. The cage would never fit in his current state, and it would be a tight squeeze once he was inside. He wondered how long he’d have to go without being allowed to get hard, how long Sherlock would make him wear it. Would he have to wear it to work? He’d wanted this, dreamed of this, and now here it was. Laying inside a red box, carefully placed onto a bed of deep red crushed velvet. 

“I love it, Sir,” he whispered, hands twitching beneath the box, desperately wanting to reach out and touch it. 

“Good answer." Despite Sherlock’s words, John detected a hint of relief. Sherlock took the box from John’s hands and placed it in the table just behind him. “A few ground rules, of course.”

John nodded, listening intently. 

“While in the cage, you may not achieve orgasms, not that you’ll be able too. But I understand that men get desperate and attempt to achieve ‘ruined orgasms’ by using vibrators. That will not be allowed. Your cock, while it is locked up, will be mind. I will top, you will bottom.

If we decide that a long term use is desired, you will allowed out of it twice a week to shave and for other hygiene purposes. During those moments of freedom, you will not be permitted to orgasm.

While home, and if the doors are locked so we have no interruption,” here John knew Sherlock was referring to Mrs. Hudson or clients, “the contents of that box will be the entirety of your wardrobe. If you are currently wearing it and we get called out, you will remove the collar and cuffs, but keep the cage on. If we happen to go through a metal detector while you’re wearing it, well I hope you can think fast.” Sherlock grinned. 

“So now, Watson, how long should your first session be?”

“You’re letting me decide, Sir?” John looked up, a bit puzzled. Was this a test to see if he’d ask for no more than an hour, locked up and prevented from evening achieving an erection?

“As it is your first time, I do not wish to make you any more uncomfortable than necessary. Shall we put it on, then you can tell me?”

“Yeah-yes please, Sir.” John nodded, and wondered if Sherlock would let him get off one last time, seeing his cock was harder than he’d ever remembered it being. 

“Good. Go shower, shave, and apply cream so you don’t get razor burn. If you cannot do that without coming I will watch to ensure it.” 

“I, I can manage, Sir.” Despite his words, John wasn’t so sure he could, and it seemed like Sherlock knew, because as John got up and walked into the bathroom, Sherlock followed. 

Sherlock leaned gracefully against the sink and made it clear that he wasn’t going anywhere as John turned the taps on. He was about to step in when the clink of the chain against the tub made him stop. Sherlock waved him on with a curt, “that stays on until the collar goes on.”

After thoroughly cleaning himself picked up a razor and looked down at his still hard as fuck cock, this was going to be difficult...

A rustle of movement caught his eye, then Sherlock was by his side, shirt sleeves rolled up and hand outstretched, “pass me the razor,”

Soon armed with a bottle of shaving cream and the razor, Sherlock settled on his knees at the edge of the tub so his head was roughly at John’s groin level. “Turn the water off so I don’t get soaked,” he demanded, turning the sink on so he could rinse the razor off there. 

Despite Sherlock’s touches being nothing more than clinical and efficient, John’s erection didn’t wane during the shaving session. Each time Sherlock’s hand wrapped around his shaft, moving it this way or that to get around or behind it he had to stifle a groan. 

“Rinse off, clean up this sink then meet me in the lounge.” Sherlock stood, gave John a hard look that told him he was still not allowed to come, then left the room while fixing his sleeves. 

John completed his tasks quickly, remembered to apply cream to his freshly shaven skin, then went and knelt by Sherlock’s side. Sherlock was standing beside the table in the lounge, an air of boredom wafting from his stance, but when John settled on his knees he straightened up and looked down at the man at his feet. 

“Last chance to say no, Watson.” 

“The answer is yes, Sir” John shook his head and raised his eyes to look at Sherlock. As their eyes met a wave of understanding passed between them and Sherlock gave a curt nod. 

“Go fetch an ice pack, then stand in front of me.” 

Raising to his feet again he went into their tiny kitchen, opened up the freezer and grabbed one of the squishy gel ice packs from the shelf. As he walked over to Sherlock and handed it over he wondered what it was for. Placing his hands behind his back, as he knew he was supposed to he shouted as Sherlock pressed the ice pack against his cock. 

“Steady on, Watson, I didn’t say you could move.” Sherlock’s voice was teasing, one of his hands snaked behind John’s body, grabbing an ass cheek and holding him steadily in place as the ice pack quickly diminished John’s erection. 

After only a few moments John’s cock was nothing more than a shriveled soft nub and his bottom lip was tender from where he’d been biting it. 

Careful fingers picked the silver ring out of the box, then Sherlock was kneeling in front of him. His balls were fed through the ring, where it sat very snuggly against the back of the, and around the top of his cock. Next the catheter was lubed up, and John inhaled, knowing what was coming next. While not painful, it was unpleasant, but Sherlock worked quickly and soon it was inserted and being locked in place with the silver cage. The cage wasn’t solid metal, like some John had seen (mostly in porn videos), this one was like a coiled spring, still allowing his cock to be seen through the coil, but preventing it from growing in length. Sherlock slid it into place, made a few adjustments with the head of the catheter, then slid a lock between the hole that connected the ring to the cage. With a deafening “click” John’s cock was locked away, a useless bit of caged flesh between his legs. 

A pleased smile crossed Sherlock’s face as he stood. “Wrists,” he asked, holding out a cuff. One by one John’s wrists then neck were wrapped with straps of leather, then like his cock, locked away. The chain was removed, and Sherlock let it drop to the floor.

“I happen to know that Mrs. Hudson is out. Bridge club she said, but going by her dress and new perfume, she’s out on a date. Not likely to be home for another two hours. We have a pile of laundry that needs to be washed. I suggest you hurry.”

Sherlock turned and picked up his violin and began to play as if he hadn’t just taken his partner’s manhood away. John wasted no time, he hurried to their bedroom and grabbed the laundry basket from the far corner then, knowing Sherlock was watching him out of the reflection on the window, walked through their flat and stepped into the hall. 

Mrs. Hudson had continued to be unsuccessful in renting out 221C, and had eventually turned it into a utility room of sorts. It now housed a full sized washer and dryer. Bare feet growing cold on the cement floor John shuffled in place as he filled the washer, tossed in soap and closed the lid. As he leaned forward to close the lid, his now metal clad cock clinked against the side of the washer and a shiver ran through his body while his cock simultaneously tried to harden. It couldn’t, of course, and John groaned. 

As he passed through the downstairs hall on his way up, his heart gave a little lurch of fight as voices from the outside carried into their flat. Scared that someone might walk through at any moment, he scurried up the stairs and entered through the kitchen. 

Sherlock put his violin down and slowly turned to face him. Quirking his eyes down to John’s cock he asked, “comfortable?”

“Strange.” John replied as he started to get to his knees. 

“Don’t kneel. Not yet.” Sherlock stalked over, stepping into John’s personal space so their chests touched. He reached a hand down and let a finger slide over the coiled cage. John could feel the soft pad of Sherlock’s finger through the slits and it made his eyes roll into the back of his head. 

“Have you determined how long you’d like to wear it for?” Sherlock asked, voice husky and hot in John’s ear. 

“Twenty-four hours, Sir.” John said briskly. That should be long enough to determine if he either loved, or hated this new arrangement. He didn’t have work at the clinic tomorrow, and unless Sherlock took a case, could spend the day home in their flat. 

“Done.” Sherlock nodded and looked at his watch, “tomorrow at 9:43pm everything will come off, and we can determine any further ‘sessions’ out then.”

“Thank you, Sir,” John said, grateful that there was an end in sight. 

 

“Now, into my bedroom with you. I have a new toy I’d like to play with.” Sherlock wrapped his whole hand around the cage and gave John’s dick a jiggle. “I want to know if it makes noise.”

John let out an involuntary squeak as he turned around. Before he could take a single step Sherlock’s hand came down hard on his behind. Again John helped and this time Sherlock chuckled. It was a deep rumble of pleasure, Sherlock had clearly changed his mind and now saw John interning enough to be the entirety of his attention. Nothing John did from here on out, until Sherlock got bored -if Sherlock got bored- again, would go unnoticed. John would have to watch his every step. He’d have to remind himself that for the next 24 hours, hr was the submissive and Sherlock his superior. 

Many assumed, and had blatantly asked, if Sherlock was as commanding in bed as he was in person. John never answered, because of course that wasn’t any of their business, but in fact it was 50/50 with them. After most cases, when Sherlock had been in charge and in control of his body for so long, he relished letting go and letting John care for him. They didn’t always partake in Dom/Sub relationships either, but when they did those were 50/50 as well. 

Lost in his thoughts he didn’t realize they’d already arrived in the bedroom. John let out a help of surprise as Sherlock gave him a shove and send him tumbling face first onto the bed. He landed with a muffled “ooff” and scrambled onto his back, stuffed his hands between his back and the bed and spread his legs, showing his Master he was ready for him. 

“Hmmmm... I think not.” Sherlock’s dark curls bounced as he shook his head. He began slowly unbuttoning his shirt, revealing alabaster skin, and soon the pink hue of one nipple. “There’s nothing of importance for me with you like that. Not with my cock all locked up. Roll over, but keep your hands as they are.”

John rolled over onto his stomach, his caged cock now trapped between his body and the bed, strained against the cage. He knew without looking that it would be swollen enough that his flesh would be trying to force between the slits of the cage. A quick roll of his hips proved to be futile, and also earned him a hard slap on the ass. 

“None of that!” Sherlock barked, then a rustle of fabric told John that Sherlock had divested of the rest of his clothes. “Now, I’m going to take what I want, fuck you until you’re begging to be let out, begging me to let you come, and then you’re going to clean up whatever mess I make, get me a glass of water, then beg me for permission to sleep next to me. Depending on how well you handle yourself I might let you. Fail to entertain me, and you can kip on the floor like a dog. 

John swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded his understanding. The bed shifted and Sherlock settled between John’s legs. Two warm hands rested on the back of John’s thighs and gave a gentle squeeze. 

“Still alright?” Sherlock’s voice was still commanding, but the air of concern was more than apparent. 

“Yes, Sir.” John nodded and rolled his head so his left cheek was resting on the bed, allowing himself to see the basic outline of Sherlock through his peripheral vision. 

“What are you feeling, please elaborate.” Sherlock let one hand, his right, rub it’s wait up John’s thigh to his arse and pulled his cheek open, while his left hand disappeared entirely. As John opened his mouth to speak a cold dribble of lube landed on his hole then a finger began circling the tight muscles of his sphincter. 

“It feels... strange, Sir,” he began but Sherlock sighed and dug the nails of his right hand into John’s flesh. 

“So you’ve said, I was hoping for more.” Sherlock growled and pressed his index finger inside John until his palm rested flat against John’s body. 

“Aaah....” John squeezed his eyes shut and tried to control the pitch of his voice. It wouldn’t do to start squealing this early on. “My... er, your, cock is straining, trying so hard to, well, get hard. It can’t though. It doesn’t hurt exactly, but it is unpleasant. Tight, but not to the point of pain. All in all, it’s making me fucking horny.”

“Language!” Sherlock snapped, and somewhat roughly inserted a second finger. John was more than ready for it, so the stretch was not painful, but it was possessive. 

“Sorry, Sir.” John mumbled and gave a shudder as one of Sherlock’s fingers passed deliberately over his prostate. 

“One of these days,” Sherlock mused, “I’ll get you to come just from that, soil that cage of yours. But not tonight.” Sherlock meticulously worked John open, adding finger by finger and lube as needed. By the time he had John good and open, John was groaning and rutting desperately against the bed. 

“Is that helping?” Sherlock laughed darkly as he withdrew his fingers, clearly enjoying the show he was putting on.

“Ffuc…. No.” John winced as Sherlock gave his arse a hard slap before withdrawing his hand completely. 

“One more filthy swear out of that mouth and I’ll tie you up and leave you like this until the morning.” Sherlock’s weight shifted, and for one panic-filled moment John thought he’d leave. But then Sherlock’s knees were pressed hard against his thighs, shifting so he was kneeling between John’s legs. Two strong hands grabbed and pulled apart his arse cheeks, and then the hard tip of Sherlock’s cock was pressing intently against his hole. 

“Now, I’m going to fuck you, hard. Tonight is not about you, it is about teaching you that sometimes,” Sherlock grunted and canted his hips forward, sinking himself into the warm heat of John’s body, “I actually know what I’m doing!” Leaning forward Sherlock pressed his abdomen hard against John’s arse. John shifted in discomfort but didn't cry out in pain. There was no reason too, Sherlock had seen that he was properly prepared. “I’ll leave you wanting, whimpering, and gagging for it. Then tomorrow,” Sherlock pulled back, then slammed in hard with his next words, “we’ll have a chat about how you’ll start listening more.” 

“I’ll listen,” John growled out despite knowing he was just fueling Sherlock on more, “when the needs must. Sometimes, you’re not always right. Sir.” He added as a cry when both of Sherlock’s hands struck down on his arse hard enough to leave two red handprints in their wake. 

“Shall I gag you too?” Sherlock shifted, regaining his balance and pulled John’s cheeks apart, his target set. He gripped the flesh of John’s arse so hard that it turned the skin around his fingers white and his knuckles hurt. “I thought locking you up would help simmer that temper of yours.”

John just grunted, and buried his head in the blankets, letting out a primal growl as Sherlock’s cock dragged across his prostate. If this was any proof, with enough time, locked away like this, he was certain he’d be able to come just from prostate stimulation. He could feel the blood rushing to his groin, flesh straining against metal, due to the tight ring wrapped around his balls he felt like he would pop at any moment. It was utter torture, but it was also bliss. His body, in favor of finding pleasure through his cock, was honing in on the bursts of pleasure caused whenever Sherlock’s cock hit his prostate. It was heaven, it was also insanity. 

Personally, he’d never really experienced what men now called “pre-come”. Usually he and Sherlock were too hot and heavy to bother with quantity over quality. But now, he could feel a steadily growing damp spot against the blankets. Chastity tears, some called them, and rightly so, all the pleasure, and most of the buildup, but no erection, no orgasm. That certainly was enough to cry over. After what felt like ages John realized he was talking. Begging, really. 

Begging Sherlock to fuck him harder, which of course he did. Begging to be used, filled, and begging to be allowed to come. Sherlock just chuckled, that deep wicked laugh that rolled over him like a thunderstorm. That wrapped around his senses like velvet. Fingernails bit into flesh, and John knew he’d have more than one mark by the time this was over. 

“Bite me, fucking bite me.” John grunted out. Until now, he’d kept his hands relatively in the same place, folded against his lower back. However when he swore, he immediately clapped a hand over his mouth and grunted his apologies. 

Sherlock stopped mid thrust, tisked sadly and pulled out of John with a wet pop. He sat back and released his grip on John’s arse. Soon a soft grunting came from him, and the gentle shaking of the bed told John that Sherlock was jerking off. Warm drops of come soon landed on John’s back, then Sherlock was moving, moving away from John. Within moments the chain that had been around John’s neck was being looped through the O rings attached to one of John’s cuffs, then secured to the bed frame.

“I had hoped you’d behave.” Sherlock whispered as he stepped away from the bed, drawing his dressing gown around him. “Yell if you need the loo, maybe I’ll hear you, or just bring you a bucket. If I’m in.” With that Sherlock left the bedroom, and left John panting into the bedsheets and groaning in frustration. 

John lay like that for a long while, long enough for Sherlock’s come to dry against his back. The whole while he could hear Sherlock moving about the flat, using the loo, and by the sounds of it fixing himself something to eat. The doctor, and partner in him, nodded approvingly at that. It had been roughly 36 hours since Sherlock’s last meal, high time for him to eat. He just hoped it was something more than those chocolate biscuits he loved so much. At one point he even heard Sherlock descend the stairs of their flat, presumedly to finish the load of laundry John had started. 

After a while his body became stiff, his shoulders ached and he desperately needed to crack his neck. He rolled over and took a look at his situation. His left hand was chained to the bed frame, locked shut on both ends with a small padlock and his caged cock was red and straining to get out. Letting out a huff he threw his head back down onto the pillows and dragged the blankets over him. This was going to be a long night. 

Sherlock never came to bed that night, whether or not he slept John didn’t know, at one point the noises of his movements stopped, so John assumed he’d fallen asleep either in his chair or on the sofa. As for himself, John slept very little, and not just because he was chained and caged up. Since he and Sherlock had gotten together, sexually, they’d hardly spent a night apart. Even if Sherlock didn’t, or couldn’t, sleep, he’d always stay in bed with John until John was asleep. Funny, how quickly you can become accustomed to sleeping next to someone.

The digital clock on their nightstand read exactly 6am by the time Sherlock came back. John breathed a sigh of relief. His bladder was now more than protesting, however stubbornness had kept him from calling out for Sherlock during the night. Sherlock’s lips quirked up into a sarcastic smile and he shook his head.

“Still being stubborn? Thought leaving you to stew might have taught you a lesson. Now, what will you do for me if I unlock your wrists and let you use the toilet?” Sherlock was standing, one leg crossed at the ankle, the way Mycroft had stood during John’s first meeting with him. He looked elegant, and incontrol, even with his dressing gown hanging open to reveal his otherwise naked body. 

John thought for a moment before answering. His first reaction was to tell Sherlock to fuck off, that this was more than enough; but then a little voice in the back of his head reminded him that he’d asked for this. He’d asked for 24 hours of being Sherlock’s sub. He could have asked for less, Sherlock probably would have agreed, as it was their first time. Setting his jaw he looked Sherlock straight in the eye and whispered, “I won't complain once the rest of the day.” 

“And if you do?” Sherlock quirked an eyebrow, but didn’t make to move towards John just yet.

“We’ll chalk this experiment up to a failed attempt.” John sat up, and held out his left wrist for Sherlock to unlock. “I wanted this, yeah?”

“Mmm…” Sherlock hummed as he knelt on the bed, producing a key from the pocket of his dressing gown and made quick work of removing the chain. “You can do it.” Before moving away, Sherlock’s hand skated up John’s arm, gripping his bicep tightly as he smashed their mouths together. Tongue met tongue, and John released a small groan into Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock hardly ever used tongue when he kissed, claimed it was weird, but god this kiss was heaven.

“Go shower, then get dressed, Lestrade needs us at the Yard to answer a few questions.” Sherlock scowled and cast a look to the bedside drawer where John’s gun was safely hidden away. 

John hurriedly got up and headed into the bathroom, but Sherlock called after him, “And start thinking of an explanation as to why five men got shot last night!” 

“The truth! Sir.” John yelled back, already sighing in relief as he emptied his bladder, despite the odd sensation caused by his cage. “Better off just sticking with that, I think. Lestrade knows I have a gun, and Mycroft has made it somewhat legal, claiming its for your protection. Like I’m your glorified bodyguard guard or something .” 

Sherlock stepped into the bathroom just as John flushed and caught John’s eyes in the mirror. 

“You sure?” he stepped into John’s personal space, and long fingers rested on each of his shoulders for a moment before working with the buckle on the collar. 

“Mm, less holes in the story. Leader was getting antsy, we feared for the boys safety. Sorely outnumbered it was the only way to ensure the boy made it out unharmed.” John rolled his neck as the collar came away and groaned as his neck popped. The cuffs came off next, and he wasted no time in getting into the shower. 

“Normally I would protest,” Sherlock began thoughtfully, raising his voice to be heard over the din of the water, “but seeing you sitting in the Yard all day, knowing your… no, my cock is caged up beneath your pants, I think that’ll be worth it. Don’t you?” 

John groaned, audibly. He placed both palms on the back of the shower wall and dipped his head so his forehead was resting against the wall. He hadn’t thought about that, and now that he had, well he wanted to swear. He bit his tongue though, and straightened up. He could see Sherlock through the frosted glass of the shower door, knew that he was waiting for an answer so, with a voice like dripping honey said, “Can’t wait, sir.” 

“Perfect!” Sherlock said just as cheerfully as if they’d both agreed on the same restaurant to have dinner at and left the bathroom. Twenty minutes later found the two of them sitting in the back of a cab. 

“Quit fidgeting.” Sherlock hissed as John shifted in his seat, trying to find a position where his cage wasn’t pinching him. 

“It hurts.” John hissed back, eyes daring upfront to the cabbie to see if he noticed anything but if the cabbie noticed anything strange he wasn’t letting on. “Keeps punching.”

“Thought you promised you wouldn’t complain?” 

“I’m not. I’m simply stating the facts.” John groaned, then slumped against the seat, spreading his legs as wide. “There, that’s better…” he heaved a sigh of relief and let his head fall against the window. He was exhausted, having only slept for an hour or two at most, it really was all he could do to not complain. Traffic was heavy, morning traffic caused their ride to nearly double in time. By the time they’d reached the Yard John was bringing to sweet from the effort. 

Sherlock stepped out of the taxi, all long legs and grace. His coat swirled behind him like a magician's cloak. John stumbled out after him, doing his best not to grab his crotch and adjust himself. He followed Sherlock into Lestrade’s office, feeling as if everyone who looked at him knew his secret. He felt like he was walking different, but he knew he was imagining things. 

“Morning boys.” Lestrade didn’t even look up from the mass of paperwork on his desk, he just waved to the two empty seats across from his desk. 

“Just… going to use the loo.” John muttered as Sherlock sat down. 

“Have fun,” Sherlock flashed him a grin before wiping all emotion from his features. 

“Sleep well?” John heard Greg ask Sherlock as he slipped from the room. He didn’t hear the response though, as he hurried down the hall to get gents. Once inside he locked the door and rushed into a stall. Once that door was locked he ripped his trousers open. With one hand on the silver ring he pulled and tugged on his balls until they were no longer being pinched within the ring. Breathing a sigh of relief he stuffed himself back inside his trousers, and did a few test squats. Nothing pinched, for which he was grateful. 

Once back in Lestrade’s office Sherlock looked up from a piece of paper, a police report no doubt from their outings last night. He looked John up and down and nonchalantly asked, “feel better?”

“Much, thank you.” John stepped past Sherlock, because of course the prick would take the closest chair, and sat down in the chair against the wall. 

“So… what story are we going with here?” Greg scrapped a hand through his hair and looked straight at Jonn.

“Leader was getting antsy, showing signs of harming the child. We intervened.” John shrugged and gave Greg a charming smile. 

“Intervened… how? By shooting them? With who’s gun.”

“Let’s just say the gun made itself available.” John folded his hands on his lap. With his hands just inches away he suddenly became very aware of the cage. 

“Right. That gun that you don’t have.” Greg sighed. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad the bastards got shot. They deserved it. However, legally….”

“Yeah I know.” John said apologetically. 

“Call Mycroft.” Sherlock said in his pointedly bored voice. “He’ll clean up the legality of it all. Give us two blank reports, we’ll write down what happened. 

Twenty minutes later Greg was looking over the two reports, nodding silently to himself. 

“Yeah, looks right. Listen, thanks for not spinning some crazy story. Less holes this way. John, we might need your gun as evidence, but chances are Mycroft will negate that, if I know him.”

“Are we done here?” Sherlock asked, fingers drumming a rhythm on the arm of his chair.

“Yeah, just about.” Greg flipped the two pages over, so they faced John and Sherlock, “just sign and you’ll be free. I’ll let you know when the court date is.”

“Can’t wait.” Sherlock scribbled his signature on the bottom line then stood. “Come on John. Time to go.”

“Yeah, just coming.” John crossed the t in his last name and put the pen down. “Thanks Greg.”

“Yeah, thanks guys.”

John gave him a sympathetic look and nodded to the piles of paperwork around Greg. “Don’t work yourself too hard.”

“Mmm being a DI means extra paperwork, it’s the part of this job I hate the most.”

“Better than Chief,” John added, and Greg laughed. 

“You’re right on that one.”

Sherlock was already halfway down the hall to the lift by the time John stepped out of Greg’s office. He rushed to catch up and just made it inside the lift moments before the door shut. 

“Home?” He asked, as Sherlock pressed a button on the panel. 

“Home.” They were alone in the lift and Sherlock rounded on him, herding him into a corner, each hand on a wall just beside John’s head. “Where you’ll take off these ridiculous clothes and draw me a hot bath.”

“Yes, Sir.” John gulped as Sherlock’s teeth clamped over his earlobe. 

“Good boy.” Sherlock straightened up and brushed off his coat like he’d gotten dust on it. 

John’s cock gave a desperate little twitch inside the cage and he bit his bottom lip in an effort to stifle a moan. 

Sherlock insisted on taking the tube home. John was certain that it was for his own benefit. More exposure to the public while locked up. Despite the hour, most people already at work, the tube was busy. Filled with mothers and young children, clearly headed into the city for a fun-packed day. John felt dirty, standing beside one young mother, holding the hand of a girl no older than 3. 

A few befuddled and impatient businessmen continuously checking their watches could be spotted here and than inside the car. At one stop, as the brakes were put into use, a man in front of John lost his balance and full body bumped into him. “Sorry,” the man muttered even as John turned bright red. Had he felt the metal cage when they bumped together?

Sherlock stood beside him, a corner of his mouth quirked in interest. His eyes were glued to his mobile, but John knew for a that Sherlock’s attention was full on him. Plus, nobody got signal down here in the tube. 

Finally back at Baker Street John closed the door to the outside world and looked at his watch. It was just 10am. 11 hours to go. Maybe he could snag a nap, if Sherlock would let him. He was dead on his feet after all. 

Music filled the hall, some Billy Idol song. Rebel Yell, if John wasn’t mistaken. Mrs. Hudson was home, and baking. Sherlock noticed as well and frowned. 

“Cuffs and a dressing gown for you,” he sniffed the air, “She’s making scones. Which of course means she’ll be paying us a visit within the hour.”

“She’ll notice I’m not dressed.” John muttered as he climbed the stairs. It was rare for  
John to lounge about in his dressing gown, just as it was common place for Sherlock to be wearing his. 

“Mm, late night, you’re a bit peckish, aren’t you?” Sherlock said cooly, following John into their flat. He tosses his coat onto the back of John’s chair then his scarf and gloves followed. “Bring the cuffs to me and dressing gown,” he added after a moment's pause, “but ditch the clothes first.”

John found the cuffs where Sherlock had left them in the bathroom, resting on the counter beside the sink. He hurried into their bedroom, undressed and carefully folded everything before placing them on a chair, and grabbed up his thick flannel dressing gown. Before leaving the bedroom he caught a glimpse of himself in the full size mirror hung on Sherlock’s wardrobe door. He looked tired, had deep bags below his eyes, and his cock looked foreign to him. The metal cage was hardly visible around the head of his cock where the flesh was trying as hard as it could to expand. He gave a frustrated sigh before joining Sherlock in the lounge. 

“On your knees.” Sherlock flicked his wrist in an annoyed fashion, as if John should have read his mind. John settled on his knees, offering up the dressing gown and cuffs with his eyes averted. Sherlock silently took the items. “Right wrist,” he said after a moment, then as John lifted his hand wrapped the leather cuff around his wrist. The left was next, then out of his pocket Sherlock produced two small padlocks, slipped them through the buckle, and locked the cuffs in place. 

“Stand,” he said simply, and John stood. Sherlock placed the dressing gown on John, tying it in place and nodding to himself as he adjusted the sleeves so the cuffs were sufficiently hidden. “Good, now pick up my coat. Once that’s cleaned up you can do whatever you’d like for the next few hours. I need to sort out the finer details of this case and delete the irrelevant data. I’ll see to Mrs. Hudson when she comes up, if you are indisposed.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Mmm..” Sherlock made a noncommittal sound as he settled down in his chair, fingers pressed together just under his nose as his eyes slid shut. 

John hung Sherlock’s jacket up on the hook on the back of the door, then placed the blue scarf over it, and the gloves in the right hand pocket of the coat. With that done he stood there for a moment, wondering best how to use his free time. At first he thought about typing up the case, but thought better of it as he stifled a yawn. If he napped, he’d have trouble sleeping tonight, but it seemed worth it. 

Finding his mobile, he set an alarm for noon and crawled into bed. He fell asleep almost instantly. He was shaken away some time later. Groggily he looked from  
Sherlock to the clock, blinked a few times and groaned. It was 3pm. 

“I turned your alarm off. You needed the sleep. But now food is what you need.” Sherlock offered him a hand, and when John took it pulled him out of bed. In the kitchen John found the table had been cleaned and set. Mrs. Hudson’s scones sat in a cloth covered wicker basket on the middle of the table, a jar of local honey sat beside that, and next to that yet was a bowl of fresh fruit. John tucked in with gusto and soon had his plate filled to the brim with fruit and a scone drizzled with honey. 

“I was thinking,” Sherlock began, sitting down across from him and taking only a scone (practically soaked with honey), “your release time tonight is a bit… odd. Hardly fair to unlock you so late at night. So,” Sherlock slid a small silver key across the table so it was between them. “Describe your experience, in detail, and if it satisfies me I’ll unlock you now.”

 

“Waking up this morning was the hardest part mentally for me. The normal pleasure of morning wood was transformed into a crazy moment of uncertainty. Your,” John emphasized, “cock spasmed and strained against the metal, filling the cage to the point where it was painfully spilling around the slits. 

Thankfully, I had little to no time to dwell on it.”

 

Sherlock nodded, and broke off a bit of his scone, dipped it in more honey, then popped it into his mouth. 

“I was pleased to see that it didn’t really create that much of a noticeable bulge in my jeans. However the whole time we were out I felt like everyone around us knew. That was also part of the fun, oddly enough. Knowing I had a secret. That I was walking around with my deepest darkest, kinkiest, secret covered only by pants and a pair of trousers.” John paused to take a few bites of his fruit, then continued. 

“I think that was partly why it hurt so much in the cab. It was trying so hard to get hard,” he grimaced at his choice of words. Not exactly his most elegant sentence, but he continued, “but it couldn’t. No matter how hard it tried to break free, it was stuck. 

The weirdest part, I have to admit, is how aware I was of my… er… your dick the whole time. No a moment passed where I wasn’t keenly aware of it. Like a mental prison manifested itself into a small metal cage, and stole me away from reality.”

“So, you enjoyed it?” Sherlock asked thoughtfully.

“Yeah, I did. For the most part.”

“For the most part?”

“Yeah, I didn’t like the part where you just left me last night. First time and all, we both knew I was bound to swear a lot.”

“Ahh… well, I had to keep my word.” Sherlock met his eyes and gave John a small smile. “Next time, if there is a next time, I’ll be a little more lenient with the language.”

“Ta.”

“Anything else you’d change?”

“Ahh…” John blushed and did his best to hide it but failed miserably, “I’d like the chance to orgasm while locked in it. And perhaps lose the catheter except for at home. I’m not against wearing the lot out in public again, but it would be nice to get used to it here, rather than dealing with my balls feeling like they’ve been stuffed into some medieval contraption. That was a bit more painful than I can properly handle in public.”

“Noted.” Sherlock nodded then slender fingers were picking the key up from the table. He was kneeling by John’s side in an instant and lifting away the dressing gown. 

“Ahh, how about we eat first before mixing up the two… germs and all.” John grimaced at the thought of the catheter being removed at their kitchen table. He’d rather another 20 minutes in the contraption than have his appetite ruined. 

“Probably for the best,” Sherlock agreed, then sat back down. 

John ate hurriedly and hungrily. Having been so focused on his predicament he hadn’t paid much attention to his stomach. Once they’d both finished, and the food had been cleaned up and put away, Sherlock followed John into the bathroom. 

John grabbed a towel from the hamper, their only bit of dirty laundry, and placed it on the floor beside the tub, he then sat in the edge and Sherlock settled between his knees. The dressing gown was pushed aside, and the key was produced. John watched with eager anticipation as the lock was removed and set carefully on the towel. The body of the cage then slid free of the ring. The catheter came next, John grimaced at the slight discomfort, and was glad for the towel as a small amount of urine dribbled out a it came out. It then took a little bit of prodding from Sherlock to slide the cage off fully, as John’s dick chose that exact moment to get hard again, but soon it joined the lock on the towel. The ring that had trapped John’s balls between it and the cage proved to be the most difficult to remove. John’s erection flagged as Sherlock, as gently as he could, began manipulating his testicles to fit through the loop. 

Finally, everything was lined up neatly on the floor and John was free. He reached out with both hands and grabbed Sherlock’s head, pulling him in for a searing kiss. 

“Thank you,” he muttered against Sherlock’s lips. That was extraordinary. We can definitely do that again. 

Sherlock mumbled something, but it was lost in a barrage of kisses, and he gave up trying to speak in favor of returning the kisses. 

“Now,” John said softly, “in the bedroom with you… you owe me an orgasm.”

Sherlock’s eyes twinkled as he pulled away with a chuckle. 

“Race you,” he said, as he sprinted to the bedroom. 

“Oi! Not fair, you and your long legs…” John muttered as he stood up and rushed after Sherlock. 

“Yeah, but you like my legs.” Sherlock laughed as he dropped his trousers and revealed what seemed like miles of pale leg. 

“Oh god, yes I do.” John grinned as he dove for Sherlock, pinning him to the bed. “Yes, I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is the cage John wore. Warning by opening the links you’ll be viewing porn on tumblr. 
> 
> https://marriageofdevotion.tumblr.com/post/169193012631/how-teasing-is-this
> 
> https://passionchastity.tumblr.com/post/171268408425/who-wants-to-own-this-caged-penis-i-have-been-in


End file.
